Nothing Exactly Like It
by Mousme
Summary: There are always little hurdles to be overcome in a relationship. Steve and Danny stumble over one of them.


Title: **Nothing Exactly Like It**

Summary: There are always little hurdles to be overcome in a relationship. Steve and Danny stumble over one of them. Or, the one in which Danny doesn't actually like giving blowjobs.

Characters: Steve/Danny, brief Chin and Kono

Rating: NC-17

Wordcount: 4,417

Disclaimer: All of it still belongs to CBS. Just playing with their toys while their attention is elsewhere.

Warnings: Vague spoilers for all aired episodes. Awkward sex.

Neurotic Author's Note #1: This is all **zortified**'s fault. I was checking Twitter and saw this tweet: "Want to see a steve/danny fic where one of them doesn't like to give blowjobs & it causes problems until they figure out how to negotiate…" and then this fic happened. IDEK, okay?

Neurotic Author's Note #2: Title is taken from a quote by W. C. Fields: "Some things are better than sex, and some are worse, but there's nothing exactly like it."

Neurotic Author's Note #3: Unbeta'd. Read at your own risk, etc.

* * *

It seems a little surreal, in retrospect. After all, it's not like Steve meant for it to go wrong, and in his defense, he wasn't really thinking straight. And, really, who could blame him for not thinking straight when he was being straddled by a very naked Danny who was mouthing at his nipple and grazing it with his teeth while doing some kind of really awesome twist-stroke-pull thing with his hand that threatened to make Steve lose his mind right then and there. Danny's really good with his hands, which is one of the hundreds of things Steve loves about him —he can watch Danny's hands all day long, and even seeing him jab a finger in someone's chest is enough to make Steve half-hard already.

So he's really not quite sure what goes wrong in the next couple of seconds. He does remember, afterward, saying something breathlessly about Danny's mouth —which right now is occupied with saying really delicious, filthy things in-between torturing Steve with what it's doing to his nipple— about just how much he wants it. The idea of Danny's lips around his cock is almost enough to make him come right then and there, except that he's startled out of his sex-induced haze when Danny goes abruptly still over him. He opens his eyes to find Danny looking at him with an expression he can't read at all. Danny shakes his head, moves up to suck at the base of Steve's jaw.

"Yeah, not tonight, babe, okay?"

Steve just nods, because he doesn't really want Danny to stop what he's doing. He lets his head fall back, digs his fingers into the muscles of Danny's shoulders, thrusting up as Danny lines up both their cocks and begins jacking them both in earnest. Steve comes first with a bitten-off moan, eyes slamming shut of their own accord even though he loves watching Danny as he comes, watching him bite his lip and turning it bright red and shining with spit. Danny follows him over the edge not too long after, gasping quietly and spilling hot and thick over Steve's stomach. It's a little unusual —Danny generally never shuts up, not even during sex— but Danny just hauls him close when he lies down, giving him a cursory wipe-down with the corner of the sheet, and Steve is too blissed out to bother calling him on any of it.

Steve loves waking Danny up with coffee —and by dripping sea water all over him. It's a technique he's perfected by setting the timer on the coffee maker just before he goes for his morning swim, which guarantees that coffee will be ready just as he comes back inside. He makes a point of not towelling off properly, because he doesn't know what he enjoys more: the indignant sputtering Danny makes at getting dripped on, or the pathetically grateful look on his face when Steve follows it up with a kiss and a steaming mug of coffee, with enough sugar to give Steve diabetes just looking at it, but nothing else. Steve takes his the other way: milk but no sugar.

Danny groans and scrubs at his face. "How do you manage on so little sleep, you psycho? It's not even eight o'clock, and we were up very late."

"Practice. Besides, the ocean always wakes me up."

"Doesn't mean the ocean has to wake me up, too." Danny grumbles, sipping at his coffee. His hair is mussed, sticking up in a way that makes Steve want to smooth it out with both hands and maybe kiss him senseless.

Steve sits on the bed. "So what was that last night?" he blurts, and regrets the words the minute they're out of his mouth. He hadn't even planned on asking, isn't sure why he is.

Danny slides him a look that suggests he knows exactly what he's asking. "What was what?"

"Uh, you know. You kind of... when I asked... you know," Steve makes a vague movement with his hands that reminds him of something Danny would do. It's a lot more awkward in the light of day when they're not both naked and really turned on.

Danny sighs and runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up on one side. Steve has to bite his lip in order not to laugh. "You mean why didn't I suck you off when you asked so nicely?" he asks dryly, and all of Steve's amusement dries up instantly. He shrugs, so Danny keeps going. "Yeah, I just... I don't really like it."

"You seemed to like it well enough when I did it for you." Today seems to be a day for blurting things he didn't intend to blurt.

Danny whips his head around and glares. "What, now? Oh, that is rich, Steven. As I recall, you not only volunteered, but were pretty enthusiastic about the whole thing, right before you fucked me. Or did you do it only because you wanted me to blow you back, is that it?"

"No," Steve protests, because that's really not what he meant, but Danny's still going, an angry flush creeping up his neck.

"I mean, what are we talking here? Is there some sort of secret score card that I should know about?" he demands, his right hand that's not holding his coffee cup ticking off an imaginary grocery list in the air. "You gave me a blowjob, so now I owe you one? Tit for tat, or whatever? Because if that's how this is going to work, if this is only to find new ways of getting off, then you can fucking blow me, entirely metaphorically. That's not what I signed up for."

"Whoa, no. No, that's not—" Steve raises both hands in surrender. "Jesus, Danny, can you take a breath for a minute? It's not a big deal, I just—"

"I don't know, it seems like a big deal to me, since you're bringing this right along with my morning coffee." Danny sets aside the mug, as though that proves his whole point, although Steve isn't sure exactly what his point is anymore.

"No, I was —I just wanted to know why. I mean, I know why now, but... you don't like it?" he prompts, maybe a little more diffidently than he might have five minutes ago.

Danny rolls his eyes, anger dissipating as fast as it arrived. That's the only good thing about Danny's temper —it never lasts. "No, I don't."

Steve blinks a little, trying to wrap his mind around that. It's not like sucking someone else's cock is the most comfortable experience in the world, but it's not all that unpleasant, once you get used to it. You just kind of relax and let yourself get into it, and he's always really liked the way he can make someone come apart using only his lips and his tongue. Danny must see the confusion on his face, because he sighs and elaborates.

"Look, it's not like I didn't try. I'm just not that good at it, and these days staying on my knees that long is already painful enough without adding in the rest. Like, I can't relax enough to do it properly, I hate the feeling of not being able to breathe, and face it, babe, having a mouthful of come is really gross. The taste and the texture and, yeah, pretty much all of it. And, uh, I kind of have an overly-developed gag reflex," he adds, eyes cutting away.

"Oh," Steve says stupidly.

"Yeah," Danny rubs the back of his neck. "Most awkward moment of my dating career ever. Let's just say that really good-looking college football players are not all that receptive to being puked on."

"I thought you said the last time you threw up was in 1996?"

"I lied. Denial is a much happier place to live in."

"But it was still a long time ago?" Steve can't help the hopeful note that creeps into his voice. After all, fooling around when you're a kid isn't the same as when you're an adult, and that means that maybe Danny will be amenable to trying again.

Danny shrugs. "I guess."

This seems like a really good moment for Steve to shut up, and so he does. No use in pushing Danny when he's already upset. Instead he offers to make pancakes and more coffee, and Danny grudgingly allows himself to be somewhat mollified. He doesn't even complain when Steve drives the Camaro to work, settles in behind his desk and churns through his paperwork with remarkable efficiency, all the while bitching volubly to whoever will listen that they wouldn't have this much paperwork if a Certain Someone hadn't managed to blow up a building and two boats down by the pier. It's all enough to make Steve relax a little bit, enough that he puts the whole thing aside —shoves it to the back of his mind— and doesn't even think about it by the time they get home and he crowds Danny against a wall and kisses him the way he's been daydreaming about for the past three hours.

"You drive me crazy," he growls into Danny's ear, even as he's moving them onto the bed, their clothes strewn haphazardly along the hallway. Danny will likely bitch about having to pick it all up in the morning. "Sucking on your pen all fucking afternoon, Danny. Thought I was going to lose my mind. You can't pull shit like that," he laughs, sucking at the base of Danny's jaw, "and not expect to follow through."

He's not entirely sure what happens next, because it's all kind of a blur. All he knows is that Danny mutters something under his breath, sighs quietly, then pushes him backward onto the bed with a mumbled "Fine." And then Steve loses track of everything completely, because Danny's mouth is on his dick, tongue swirling around the crown, and Steve thinks maybe his brain short-circuits a little bit when he bobs down and swallows. He digs his fingers into the sheets, concentrates on trying to keep himself still no matter how much he just wants to let go and fuck Danny's mouth. It's more than a little wet —Danny's spit is mingling with the pre-come leaking from the tip of Steve's cock and dribbling down the shaft and over his chin— and Danny moves a little awkwardly, but it still feels fucking fantastic, and Steve reaches out to gently tangle his fingers in the hair at the back of Danny's head, urging him on quietly.

Danny's eyes are watering, lips stretched obscenely as he moves up and down sloppily, and Steve can see his throat working convulsively, can feel the flutter around his cock. He's making quiet, choked-off noises, and damn if that's not almost more of a turn-on than the feel of Danny's tongue working at the underside of his dick, the softness of his lips, the sensations that are all swirling together into a a mess of _hot_ and _good_ and _Danny_. Steve's orgasm takes him by surprise, slamming into him like a tsunami so fast that he doesn't even have time to warn Danny before his eyes close again and he's spurting hot and thick down Danny's throat. He slumps backward on the bed, breathing hard, eyes still closed, trying to get his heartbeat to slow down, the blood to stop roaring in his ears.

When he opens his eyes again, Danny's gone. He sits up a little blearily, trying to figure out what just happened, but doesn't get much further than befuddlement before he hears the toilet flushing and the water running in the bathroom sink. By the time he's got his brain working again Danny has come back into the room and is sliding under the sheets next to him, pulling the bedclothes over both of them. It's obvious that whatever mood might have been established before, it's long gone now, and Danny's lost all interest in even so much as touching Steve. He turns around just long enough to poke Steve hard in the chest, before pulling his hand back.

"You had better sleep like a baby after that," he says, a little accusingly, and Steve is a little surprised to smell mint on his breath, like he brushed his teeth or rinsed with mouthwash before coming back to bed.

"Um." Steve can't think of anything to say that won't end in disaster, but he kind of feels like he should be trying, at the very least.

"Babe, do me a favour? Shut up and go to sleep."

Danny rolls onto his side, effectively ending the conversation, if it can even be classified as such. Steve has obviously missed several crucial steps, here, and he'll be damned if he can figure out exactly how this all went wrong. Most obviously missing is the part of sex where Danny enjoys it too, and the whole thing makes Steve's stomach twist unpleasantly and leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Whatever just happened, it ended up with Danny —he presumes— throwing up in his bathroom, and that's not exactly the outcome he'd wanted.

He looks over at Danny, the tense line of his back making it obvious he's not really sleeping, and wonders if he should even try to pull them both close together so they can sleep the way they usually do. If he were Danny, the last thing he'd want is for Steve to touch him at all, but he's not sure he can stomach that notion. Finally he decides to risk it, lays a hand tentatively on Danny's hip, and feels ridiculously relieved when Danny doesn't flinch away or try to brush him off.

"Danny?"

"Steven, if you don't shut up now, I swear to God I will hit you."

"Okay. But can we talk in the morning?"

Danny snorts. "Since when do you want to talk about anything? Sure, fine, whatever. But after coffee."

And Steve has to be content with that.

In spite of Danny's earlier imprecation, he sleeps badly. He thinks Danny sleeps badly too, but neither one of them seems to be in a position where they want the other to know. It's the worst night Steve has had in a really long time —since before he went to jail— and he's pretty sure that this is mostly his own doing. Finally he does doze off, and when he wakes up, the bed is empty, the only sign Danny was here a terse note on the night table informing Steve that he left early to get stuff done at work.

Work is, in a word, awkward. Chin throws him a questioning glance when he walks in, but Steve just shrugs, because there is no way in Hell that he is discussing this with anyone outside of Danny. Kono is there, even though she technically doesn't have a badge, but Steve figures that shouldn't stop her from visiting any time she likes, and when he walks by she shoots him a glare that would probably fell a redwood.

"What did you do?"

He bristles. Because, really, this isn't all his fault. It's not like he made Danny do anything, it was just a... a miscommunication. "Nothing!"

"Nothing my ass. Danny doesn't act like that unless you've done something. Whatever it is, you better fix it," she says, jabbing a finger toward his chest in a way that tells him that Danny's been rubbing off on her just as much as he has, lately.

"Fine, fine," he raises both hands, palm upward, in surrender. "Stop doing that, okay?"

Just because sometimes life is unfair, Danny ducks him for the rest of the day. The worst of it is that he manages to make it look like he's not doing it on purpose at all, that he's just busy with the regular stuff that he's always busy with. And yet by the end of the day he hasn't so much as said more than three sentences to Steve in total. It sucks, and Steve is ready to come out of his skin long before the workday is over. At least, he tells himself, he'll have it out with Danny tonight, and that'll be that. Not that he's a big fan of talking, but this is definitely one of the situations that calls for talking. He's almost entirely sure that a display of affection would not go over well at all right about now. Over a year of being Danny's partner has at least given him some insight into how his mind works, and getting him something nice or taking him out would only provoke a rant that neither of them would particularly enjoy and that would likely not lead to really awesome make-up sex. So, not grand gestures. He'll just wait it out and talk to Danny tonight.

Of course, when the end of the work day arrives, Danny takes his car and goes back to his own apartment, without so much as consulting Steve. Okay, he does stop by Steve's office door briefly to tell him he'll pick him up in the morning, but that's really not what Steve had in mind at all. Danny holds up a hand to forestall any and all objections.

"Steve, I am tired and have spent the entire day chasing my tail on this ridiculous paper trail that Chin scared up. I am tired and frustrated and I am going to go home to my pull-out bed and my own coffee maker, and I will see you in the morning."

"Fine."

Steve definitely does not react by sulking. He just has stuff to catch up on in the office, he tells himself, tapping viciously at the keys on his keyboard while he fills out a requisition form and tries to come up with a creative reason for requesting hand grenades that won't make the Governor have an aneurysm. He's finishing his sentence with a satisfied flourish when Chin knocks gently on his door.

"You got a minute, Steve?"

"Sure," he motions to him to come in, tilts his chair back. "What's on your mind?"

Chin takes a seat across from his desk, crosses an ankle over his knees, and leans forward a little bit. "Did something happen with you and Danny?"

Steve sighs. "A guy can't have any privacy here?" he asks the ceiling. "Why, did Danny say something?"

"Course not. You know Danny. He yells and raves until something really goes wrong, and then he goes quiet. So since he's not saying anything, I'm guessing something happened. And, you know, the kids hate it when Mom and Dad are fighting."

"We're not fighting," Steve protests.

"Okay, sure. But something's up, anyone can see that. So since you're the only person on this whole island Danny's close to, whatever happened, I figure you need to address it with him."

"It was a misunderstanding, okay?" Steve raises both hands in a helpless gesture. "He thought I wanted him to do something that he didn't want, and... yeah. He won't talk to me."

Chin gets up, leans over the desk and gives his arm a pat. "So long as you realize that the two of you have to talk at some point, then I think we're okay. Obviously he's not ready to talk yet. Give him a bit of time, let him come to you. He's not the type to let things fester for too long."

Steve sighs again. "Right. I'll do that, thanks."

He decides that he really hates not having Danny at home by the time he's re-heating the leftovers from two days ago. The house feels too big and empty, and far too silent without Danny there to fill it up with his opinions about everything and his anecdotes about Grace. Switching on the television for company is a piss-poor substitute, not that the TV was ever his go-to choice for having some kind of noise in the house. Eventually he gives up in disgust, switches it off and goes to bed, where he sleeps even more poorly than the night before, the bed cold and empty-feeling without Danny in it.

He gets up early and goes for a longer swim than usual, because that always helps him think more clearly, and when he gets back he takes his time preparing the coffee, preparing a thousand phrases in his head at the same time and rejecting them all as they come to him. He stalls a while longer by making up scrambled eggs and toast, which no matter what Danny says are still better than anything Danny's ever come up with, and eventually runs out of ways to keep busy before his partner gets here.

"Making breakfast is a very good way to get on my good side," Danny comments from the doorway, startling Steve out of his thoughts. He's clad in his tightest pair of work pants and Steve's favourite shirt —the one that shows off his shoulders— and Steve has to remind himself sharply that right now is not a good time to cop a feel. Danny saunters into the kitchen, elaborately casual, and takes a seat as Steve sets a steaming plate in front of him, fussing unconsciously with his tie. "To what do I owe this sudden display of domesticity?"

"Um," Steve rubs the back of his neck. "It's sort of an apology? I think?"

"You think?" Danny echoes, but he doesn't sound angry. Steve considers withholding his coffee so that he won't wake up entirely and remember that he's supposed to hate him now.

He hands over the coffee anyway and sits down across from him. "I don't... uh... I didn't mean for all of it to, you know..." he gestures a little helplessly.

Danny rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his coffee. "Use your words, Steven. Didn't mean for what?"

"You know, the night before last. I didn't... I don't... it's not what I meant. I just want you to know that. And, you know, I'm sorry. If I made you feel like you had to."

Danny keeps his gaze firmly locked on his coffee. "It's not like you held a gun to my head and forced me to suck you off, babe."

"Danny... Jesus." Steve blows out his cheeks, trying to figure out just how the hell he's supposed to fix this if Danny won't say anything and he doesn't even know where to start.

That gets him an amused huff from Danny. "You know, for a guy who has a really filthy mouth when he gets going, it always shocks me what a prude you are in the cold light of day. Okay, so, for the record? I still don't like giving blowjobs."

"Yeah, I got that. And, you know, it's not like I... I mean, it's fine. Not that you need me to tell you... I mean, shit," Steve isn't sure when talking became this damned hard. "I mean, no one likes everything, right? Like, I don't really enjoy, you know," he flaps one hand. Danny might think he's a prude, but Don't Ask Don't Tell all but guaranteed that discussing sex openly will never be one of Steve's better skills.

"Bottoming?" Danny supplies, the corners of his mouth quirking a little. "Like a blushing virgin, you are," he shakes his head. "Yeah, I think we established early on that you're not too big on being the catcher, as it were. Good thing that I, flexible, understanding partner that I am, have no trouble with that."

"Right. So, you know, why shouldn't you have stuff you don't like too?" Steve leans back in his chair, feeling some of the tension he's been carrying since last night drain away. "It's fair, right?"

"Okay, then."

"Okay."

Danny finishes his coffee, hands over his mug for a refill. "So, the eggs were good and all, but really, I think that having me break a multi-year streak of no puking warrants a little more than scrambled eggs and coffee."

Steve leans back in his chair, feeling a knot unclench in his chest that he hadn't even realized was there. "Yeah?" He snakes out an arm to grab the coffee pot from the counter, and refills Danny's mug. "You think?"

Danny nods, accepting the mug when Steve hands it back. "I do think."

"Did you have anything specific in mind?"

Danny deliberately takes a sip of his coffee, twirling the mug between his palms, and doesn't say anything for just long enough that Steve squirms uncomfortably in his seat. Finally, just when he's sure he'll lose his mind if Danny doesn't say something, Danny puts him out of his misery.

"Well, I was thinking that tonight, after work, we could come back here. You will let me drive my own car, and then we'll order a pizza. A real pizza, I mean, one with no fruit. And then, once we have consumed said pizza, preferably washed down with beer, I will very generously let you bend me over a surface of your choosing in this house and fuck me until I can't see straight."

Steve swallows. "Is that so?" he asks, voice strangled.

Danny grins wickedly. "Yup."

For a second Steve is absolutely, one hundred percent certain that every circuit in his brain has just overloaded and fried. Then he grins back and reaches for the phone.

"What are you doing?"

He looks at Danny incredulously. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm calling in sick. For both of us."

"What will you do when your boss finds out you're faking it in order to get laid?"

"I happen to have the coolest boss in all of Hawaii."

"Got that on good authority, do you? I hear he's a crazed control freak with a penchant for making things blow up."

"But he also lets me take entire days off just to get laid," Steve points out mildly.

"There is that," Danny agrees, and drains his coffee cup. "So, what are you waiting for, Rambo?"

"For the last time, Rambo was in the Army, Danno."

When they finally kiss, Danny smiles against Steve's lips. He tastes of coffee and laughter and unspoken promises, and lets Steve pull him closer until they're pressed so tightly together it feels like they might never come apart again.

And that, Steve thinks, is just fine by him.


End file.
